


time to brew

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Stellar Firma (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Typical David Panic, First Dates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22903876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: David opts for the cup of slurry, its near unbearable heat already comforting in this foreign environment, and takes a gulp. The high temperature is familiar, but this slurry is far richer than the bland one he is used to, both bitter and sweet as he swallows it down. Somehow, the combination works together, and after a habitual pause, waiting for the alarms that have yet to blare, he drinks the rest down."Wow," He exhales with awe. "That slurry tastes amazing; I'm surprised I'm allowed to drink it. What did you call it again?""Coffee. Well, technically it's espresso and milk and sugar, and the plant had to be genetically reengineered, but--" Bathin waves his hand. "Let's just leave it at coffee."
Relationships: David 7/Duke Bathin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 99





	time to brew

**Author's Note:**

> major spoilers for episodes 25 and onwards, minor spoilers/easter eggs(?) for episodes 35 and 36

David is sitting at a table. It’s not the desk in his pod, not the smooth dark IMOGEN interface that jutted out from the wall where he and Trexel haphazardly designed planets; it’s not the table where he and Trexel hash out almost unnecessarily complicated sales pitches, or even the oblong, seemingly endless ocean of wood that they sit at when they pitch their ideas to clients.

Instead of those familiar tables, David is sitting at a small, round table with a glossy white top that’s streaked and bruised throughout with gray, its circumference lined with a stripe of gold. There are tens of similar tables radiating out from the one he’s sitting at. Most of the tables have one or two, sometimes three or four figures sitting at them. Some of the figures are humanoid in appearance; he spots two polar bears sitting together, but they are lightly armored. There are more creatures he does not recognize. One with multiple eyes and limbs is sitting with two seemingly sentient orbs of purple goo; another, a tentacled being, is fraternizing among a group of humans. They all seem to be enjoying themselves; David, on the other hand, is starting to feel sweatier than usual.

"Oh Board, I'm not in my pod. I'm not even in the office, or the dark hallway outside it! Where am I? Am I in the staff canteen? The Cosmic Lounge? I suppose I should be able to get into the Cosmic Lounge, considering I'm equal in value to an access card to the Cosmic Lounge, but…"

He swivels in his chair towards the source of light, and starts to note the larger structure of the place he’s found himself in--a dome. Half of it is a window that stretches down from the ceiling far above him to the ground his feet are lightly placed upon--his heartbeat is already starting to quicken in this unfamiliar place. Still, the light source from the window is pretty, an ombre sky fading from orange to pink, dotted with a bright light.

"That must be a sun, but I've never seen one outside Stellar Firma, or a sky so bright...maybe this is a lounge exclusive to line managers? Standards? _Executives_?" He starts to slide down his chair, his voice quavering. "I swear I don't know how I got here, but they're bound to recycle me when they notice! Board, please forgive me..."

"Sorry, it took a little while longer to place our order--David? Are you feeling alright?"

David looks up; his jaw doesn't drop as much as it feels like it sloughs off his face.

"B-Buh, B-Bathin, the Gr-Great Duke of--"

"Oh, David!" Bathin sits down opposite David with a laugh. "It's embarrassing when you use my whole title. Just call me Bathin."

"Y-Yes, B-Bathin," David squeaks out, Bathin's warm gaze the one thing that's managing to keep semi-upright in his chair. Bathin, _the_ Bathin, the Great Duke of Galactonium himself, is separated from him by just a few inches of table. His hair is swept off his forehead, falling in waves to his shoulders, which are indeed broad. The blue fabric of his shirt, even with a few buttons undone, is seemingly straining against his chest--and David sits up with a jolt, realizing he is not wearing his onesie, but a shirt made out of a similar fabric, white and lightweight, with the sleeves ending above his elbows. His head snaps down, and he sighs with relief when he sees he is not wearing any kind of sock. He is wearing a strappy, minimalist sort of footwear that he doesn’t know what to call, but he decides they fall into the not-sock category. (On the way down, a less sock-focused part of his brain notes he is also wearing some kind of khaki short-pant.)

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Bathin asks again, his forehead lined with concern. We can always meet up another day if--"

“NoIwouldverymuchliketobespendingtimewithyou!” The words tumble out of David's mouth before he has time to think, but they aren’t untrue. He takes a deep breath, trying to further calm himself. “It’s just I’ve forgotten where I am, and how I got here, and I’m just a little confused.”

“Well,” Bathin settles back in his chair, gesturing at the window with a sweep of his hand, light catching on two of the rings on his fingers. “Stellar Firma did a great job with this planet. Close enough to the sun where it’s warm three-quarters of the orbit span, and you only need a light jacket for the last quarter, plus all the extra layers of UV protection--we ought to go for a walk later.” His smile is broad, though it falls somewhat. “It’s a shame the one I recently commissioned didn’t come out as well. I can see where they were going, with the vault idea and all, but every time I visited, I kept losing gems! And citizens!" David makes a low, commiserating noise in his throat.

“That is unfortunate. But, Bathin, are you sure it’s okay for me to be here? I’m, you know,” David glances around before hushing his voice. “A _clone_!”

He tenses as he says the words, waiting for the inevitable mechanical noise of knives and guns being pulled on him, sirens wailing--and cautiously winks an eye open when the noise doesn't come. He opens the other eye after another moment passes, directing his gaze to his hand, where he feels Bathin's fingers start to close around it; he deftly slides out of his grasp.

“The _bio_ in bio-facsimile has to come from someone, doesn’t it?” Bathin offers with sympathy in his voice. “There might be a few, let’s call them, _expatriates_ from Stellar Firma that are roaming around the Galactonium system, but it’s not my job to keep the official count.” He reaches for David's hand again, which David swiftly retracts. Bathin frowns.

"Do you...not want to hold hands?"

"I've never held hands with a human before," David answers, his voice pitching slightly higher. "I'm not sure if it's allowed. I'm allowed to hold my own hand, though! Should I do that instead? That might be safest--"

“Well, I don’t get to court too often in my position, but I thought holding hands on a first date fell within the realm of respectability. If you would prefer not to, though, I suppose I can wait.”

"Oh. Right. I. Yep. Got it. A date. Understood." The rhythm of David’s breathing starts to quicken. "Well, a human hugged me once before and nothing bad happened then, so…" He sets his hand back down stiffly on the table. "Hold away!"

David watches as Bathin curls his fingers around his hand--warm, thick, but with a little toughness to them; he even uses his other hand to gently press David's fingers into the right spots, easing the tautness out of his grip with his touch. The warmth starts to spread up David's arm, from his wrist, to his elbow, to his shoulder, heat concentrating especially on the surface of his cheeks. He reflexively lets out a little breath.

"You're a little slippery," Bathin quietly jokes, holding David's hand between the both of his, their eyes meeting--and David feeling as if he’s falling into their depths. 

He manages to jump a little less, keeping his hand in Bathin’s as a gilded robot with an apron around its neck rolls up to their table, placing two trays in front of them. David's holds a cup of what looks to be a more smoothly blended slurry, colored a dark brown instead of its usual beige, with swirls of white foam on top. His tray also holds a small plate, atop which sits a puffy golden hexagon, with a smaller smear of shiny red jam in its middle, dotted with little cubes of crystal. He eyes the foodstuff warily, but echoes a thank you after Bathin's as the robot wheels away. Bathin takes his hand away from David's, who has quickly learned that he enjoys hand-holding, much more with Bathin than with himself.

"I thought coffee and a pastry would please anyone, though you're already a little jumpy without the caffeine and sugar--but I hope you still enjoy them?" Bathin picks up the flaky golden food on his side of the table and takes a bite, nodding encouragingly at David to do the same.

David opts for the cup of slurry, its near unbearable heat already comforting in this foreign environment, and takes a gulp. The high temperature is familiar, but this slurry is far richer than the bland one he is used to, both bitter and sweet as he swallows it down. Somehow, the combination works together, and after a habitual pause, waiting for the alarms that have yet to blare, he drinks the rest down.

"Wow," He exhales with awe. "That slurry tastes amazing; I'm surprised I'm allowed to drink it. What did you call it again?"

"Coffee. Well, technically it's espresso and milk and sugar, and the plant had to be genetically reengineered, but--" He waves his hand. "Let's just leave it at coffee."

"Coffee," David echoes, wrapping his hands around the cup. He eyes the solid food with less enthusiasm, even with a gnawing feeling of hunger in his stomach.

“It’s sweet, though I could order you something more savory, if you’d like?”

"It's not the taste I'm worried about; my digestive system has some difficulty with breaking down solids.” David admits. “But if it’s just about the taste…”

“Here,” Bathin extends his pastry across the table, the part that he had taken a bite of facing David. “I promise it won’t hurt you.” David makes a small high-pitched noise, then takes a bite, chews, and swallows.

“Wow, Bathin, it’s--”

“Oh, you have a little--” Bathin reaches across the table, his thumb brushing a crumb from the corner of David's mouth. Rather than slither away, David goes rigid at this new form of touch; Bathin tilts his head curiously, his eyes half-lidded.

“I should have known the rest of your skin would be just as soft, the way it glistens in the sunlight,” Bathin seems to be the one whose breath is quickening this time, his voice low as he leans in close. “Your lips must be--”

David suddenly jerks, blinking rapidly. It takes a moment for his dizzied mind to piece it together, but he's back in the darkness of his pod, lying horizontally across his bed. The finer details of the dream fade, but he remembers Bathin, a special slurry, talking with him, touching him--and he promptly rolls over, making loud, muffled noises into his pillow.

_Clone rage detected. Security--_

"Oh, IMOGEN, can't I get a mulligan for once?" David whips around, sniffling towards the pale blue screen on the opposite wall. "Bathin was there, and of course it was just a dream, but he was _there_ , and…" David sighs.

_Bathin is yum!_ IMOGEN pauses. _Security diverted._

"Thank you," David mutters quietly. He lies still for another moment, then slowly gets up, shuffling in his onesie to his desk drawer. He pulls out the signed photo of Bathin and sits back down on the edge of his bed.

"Oh, Bathin…" David traces the outline of his bicep, his fingertip leaving a trail of sheen on the laminated print. He closes his eyes and brings it to his lips--but stops short, and opens his eyes again. He falls back to his bed, clutching the photo to his chest.

"IMOGEN? Make sure I don't watch any more romantic--any more romantic holovisions with meal-based dates in them before going to bed."

_Nighttime access permissions edited. Holovision selection severely limited by user request._

"Oh, and IMOGEN?" David waits for her brief pause. "Bring up the history of human-clone relationships again."

_Your search history can only be cleared so many times per week!_ IMOGEN chirps back. David grumbles back at her under his breath, deserving of her _Watch it, buster!_ in response.

“Fine,” David sighs, running his thumb along the edge of Bathin’s photograph. “Bring up Stellar Firma’s timeline of clone creation technology instead.”

**Author's Note:**

> [obligatory starbucks pun]
> 
> the wikipedia page for horses does include feet in relation to hooves so imagine your david toes as you wish. i love my smitten gooey boy


End file.
